


kiss a night too still

by orphan_account



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:33:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3872212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>lester and trevor are tired of the southern heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kiss a night too still

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from [gardenia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jzBwx8DeQU), by jasmine mans

Trevor Philips _hates_ Alabama. He kicks a rock and raises his face to sniff the air heavy with an hour-old thunderstorm, wishing briefly that he smoked cigarettes, if only to have something to do with his hands (and maybe to cleanse his mouth of the taste of swamp and mud and fill it with Michael-flavor). In the winter here all it does is rain and rain and rain, and all Trevor does is wait and wait and wait. 

But he hates Alabama in the way that those devout Catholics hate the feeling of a cat o’ nine tails against their backs, or the way young altar boys hate the feeling of hardwood against their knees. It reminds him to be present. It rubs against the needful, wicked, furious energy in him and calms it. He thumbs the lighter in his pocket like a rosary and considers praying. The south suits him. It’s just as miserable as he is.

He feels just as at home here as he does anywhere, which is to say he doesn’t feel at home at all. He’s only ever felt comfortable in his skin standing next to Michael. Otherwise, everything itches. But the south is hot and damp in all the ways his early adulthood wasn’t and that helps keep his mind off of Michael for the most part. 

But he’s a little buzzed and he’s thinking about Michael now; about the scratch of calloused hands against the skin of his belly, blunt teeth leaving pinpricks of blood on his shoulder, and a thorough tongue coming after to lave over his wounds. He clenches his hands into fists and digs his ragged nails into the skin there. Inhales. Exhales. It feels like there are a thousand ants crawling just under his skin. He’s so damn itchy here. 

The memory of Michael’s tongue in his mouth is like a memory of a forest fire: burning and painful, and it leaves Trevor’s heart as scorched and black as the real thing. Though now that days and weeks and months and years have passed since that first kindling, and though now small pines are starting to grow again, the flesh of his forest floor will always be ashen. He doesn’t know what else to call this feeling, exactly, so he calls it love. 

He closes his eyes against the blazing southern sun and relaxes his hands. Somewhere out there, Michael is probably railing his new wife while their daughter naps in her crib, not a damn care in the world. Maybe Amanda is pregnant again even now, cooking up another fucking thing to keep Michael away from him, another reminder of the life _he_ was supposed to have with him. 

He spits off the porch, hoping maybe the Earth will take the challenge and put him in the ground for his disrespect. He waits. Nothing happens. He mutters a curse for good measure, but he stays excruciatingly alive, untouched by natural disaster. Oh well. Maybe next time. 

He hears Lester open the door and thinks absently that it is noble of him to step into this humidity when they both know it’s awful for his joints. Lester says nothing and if Trevor were more generous, he would marvel at that, at how Lester never _needs_ to say anything, how Lester seems to just _know_ things. But Trevor is not generous at all.

“Leshter,” He begins, because even though Lester’s braces have been off for going on five years, Trevor has never been one to let go of good material like a lisp, “it’s creepy to spy on people.” 

Lester snorts but otherwise remains silent. Something hangs unspoken between them that is too painful and dangerous for Trevor to reach for. He stays silent, too. Trevor is burning up. He peels his shirt off and tosses it to the dirty wooden floor of the porch. 

He feels Lester’s eyes on him, but he knows its more detached curiosity than desire. Lester needs an invitation to indulge his want, and even though Trevor’s every _move_ is an invitation, he also knows Lester needs clear-cut answers. He needs things that add up.

Trevor turns on his heel, lighter in hand, and watches Lester flick his gaze over his whipcord thin chest. Trevor missed that. He misses ice eyes on him with smoldering heat that make him feel like he’s burning; like he’s molten iron waiting for the hammer to strike. Heat suits him. He is prone to melting.

But Lester doesn’t want Trevor the way Michael wanted him, and Trevor doesn’t want Lester the way he wants Michael. They want each other in the lazy, friendly kind of way that being alone with too many secrets and not enough people to share them with will inevitably birth. They fool around and amuse themselves, but they rarely have sex, though that has more to do with Lester’s weak body and sex with Trevor being anything but careful and delicate than a lack of trying.

Lester is hot, too. He’s fidgeting in the way that lets Trevor know the heat and moisture is seeping into his sensitive joints and soon they will start to ache. Lester keeps saying he hates it here and they’re going to leave soon, but they haven’t budged yet. It’s okay, though. Trevor likes the way the sun slaps him red when he’s out in it too long. The burn is a good one.

“Come inside.” Lester says. Trevor grunts and turns around again, but when Lester opens the screen door and walks back into their cave, he follows. The shade inside keeps it cooler, but the stagnant air makes Trevor feel like he’s choking. 

Lester glances over his shoulder; opening his mouth to say something Trevor doesn’t have patience for right now. He’s got something knocking around in his head that Trevor will hear all about later, he’s sure, but if he wants anything now, he has to head him off at the pass. 

“I wanna fuck.” He says, before Lester has a chance to get anything out. Lester blinks at him, mouth snapping shut in surprise. Trevor snorts. By now, Lester should be used to his bluntness. He shifts his weight, dick already half-hard in his pants. Frustration and humidity do that to him.  
“Uh, okay?” Lester snaps back, attempting to recover his train of thought. Trevor frowns at him.

“So let’s go.” He jerks his head in the direction of Lester’s room, because his precious joints can’t handle activity on the couch or whatever. Lester blinks again. He shifts his weight, too. Trevor crosses his arms, losing patience while Lester considers. 

“Alright.” Lester sighs, slipping past him and heading down the hall at only a slight hobble. He’ll have to use a cane soon, at the very least. 

Trevor doesn’t waste his time when they enter the dark, cluttered room. He shoots a hand out to catch Lester’s shoulder and pulls him to him, gathering his smaller frame into his arms in a way he is either not bold enough or not dumb enough to do with Michael. He savages his mouth, walking them back towards the bed without grace, one hand fisted in Lester’s long blonde hair.

Trevor is rutting against Lester as best he can while they’re both standing, and Lester is rutting right back. Trevor can feel Lester’s heart pounding and his cock pressing against his leg, which is enough of an invitation for him to push him down on the bed for Trevor. 

They both fall onto the mattress, briefly disentangled before Trevor launches himself at Lester again, all searching hands and breathy grunts. He probes Lester’s mouth deeply and thoroughly, swiping across the backs of his teeth and drinking the strange taste that is so Not Michael that it hurts and heals all at once. When they finally pull apart for breath, he grabs Lester and drags him closer, pulling his thighs so they rest over Trevor’s own. The angle is perfect. Trevor rolls his hips up with a low grunt, catching Lester’s wrists in his hands and directing his fingers to his zipper. Lester gets the picture and starts to fish Trevor’s dick out of his pants and Trevor does the same, grasping Lester in his hand and stroking loosely. 

Lester is quiet in bed, giving Trevor little more than sharp gasps when Trevor bites his shoulder, or tiny groans as he comes, which is both a blessing and a curse. Michael is so much louder; so much more mouthy, and fucking Lester is unfamiliar enough to both allow him to forget Michael and to keep him from thinking of anything else. 

Trevor’s strokes are steady and Lester tilts his hips up, his hand moving just as evenly as Trevor’s does. Their eyes meet and Trevor smirks, taking his free hand to grab baby lotion from the floor next to him, flicking it open and jerking Lester off in tandem. 

Trevor squirts the lotion (which Lester has long stopped pretending was for his dry skin) into his hand, spreading it over his fingers and reaching down to grasp he and Lester’s dicks in his hand. Lester’s breath catches and he shuts his eyes, his head rolling back as he moves his hips in short, tiny thrusts that are more restrained than Trevor cares for. He’s in the mood for violence.

“C’mon, you can do better than that.” Trevor goads, free hand going to grip Lester’s clothed ass. He grits his teeth and lets his head drop forward, thrusting hard into his own palm and against Lester’s hardness. They’re both sweating already, between the Alabama heat and the movement of their bodies, so they disentangle themselves to tear their clothes off before Trevor is launching himself at Lester again.

He shoves him down against the mattress, dragging his nails over his soft chest and sparse blonde hair. He is seized briefly by a rush of tenderness, grateful for the only friend who hasn’t left him behind, the only one who cares anymore, though he lacks Michael’s muscle and Michael’s bravery and Michael’s everything; Trevor loves him in his own way. So he kisses Lester’s stomach instead of bites, and licks down to his cock. He’s to the point, already impatient from their brief foreplay. He takes Lester into his mouth, sucking hard in a desperate attempt to wrench any kind of noise from Lester’s throat, something to fill the wet, heavy air.

Lester is quiet, and Trevor would think he was totally unaffected if it wasn’t for his quick breathing and fist knotted in the sheets. He tries a different approach; dragging the edges of his teeth over Lester’s sensitive skin until Lester yelps in pain, tugging Trevor’s hair in annoyance.

“Watch it…” He mutters, glaring down at Trevor from behind steamed-up glasses. Trevor snarls. This isn’t doing it for him. He needs more—more—more _something_. He sits back on his heels and gazes at Lester. Lester gazes right back. Stalemate.

“Can I fuck you?” Trevor asks, after a beat. Lester blinks. Considers. Trevor doesn’t miss the pearl of precome gleaming in his slit, or the faint twitch of his cock at the question. Lester sighs. 

“Sure.” He says, shrugging. It’s more work, but it’s more fun, Lester told him once. It hurts his joints, sure, but life is pain and all that shit. They switch places, with Lester kneeling over Trevor, who sits up and lets Lester lean on his shoulder while he works him open, both breathing hard. Trevor knows Lester wants it, knows he’s ready, when Lester tightens his grip on his shoulder and grunts, but Trevor keeps going. He wants to make Lester speak for once.

Finally, Lester gives in and spits out an annoyed “c’mon, Trevor.” And Trevor complies. He pulls his fingers away and holds Lester up, dragging his hips into place over his weeping cock, waiting for Lester’s tense nod to thrust up as he sinks down. Fuck, he’s hot, and still tight, and he seems so small compared to—no. Stop it.

He digs his nails into Lester’s soft, pliant flesh and feels sweat cling to his back as Lester settles on his cock. He swears, soft and low against Lester’s throat. Lester gasps in response, hips rocking clumsily in time with Trevor’s, because even after all this time Lester still has the rhythm of a virgin. Trevor lets his mind get wrapped up in the task of control, of not going too fast or too hard and hurting the one person who can bear his touch. Lester is fragile, at times. 

“Trevor.” Lester growls his name, gripping Trevor’s wrist to coax his hand to his straining erection, which Trevor had carelessly left untouched. He is more than happy to oblige, timing his thrusts and his strokes and watching how Lester bites his lip to keep from squealing. Trevor wonders absently where he picked up that habit. Who taught him to keep his sounds in? Who taught him to be so selfish? 

“Lester,” Trevor pants, squeezing his cock with one hand and his hip with the other, “Make some noise, fuck.” He rarely begs for anyone other than Michael, but he wants to feel wanted. Lester obliges as best he can, tipping his head so his mouth is against Trevor’s ear, whimpering and sighing his name, the places where their skin meets burning and slick.

Trevor keeps his movement steady, fucking Lester even as he starts to tremble and shudder and lose his breath. Trevor holds him in place, urging Lester with kisses and bites and whispers to come for him, let go, let go, and Lester does. He cries out and spasms and empties himself on Trevor’s hand, and for a moment he is panting and limp against Trevor’s body until he remembers himself and continues to move his hips, squeezing Trevor with his insides and making soft, pitiful noises as Trevor plunders his sensitive body.

Trevor swears and bites down so hard on Lester he bleeds, the waves of his orgasm rushing over him so rapidly it’s almost painful. His legs twitch and ache with the exertion of it, and when it’s over, he collapses back against the bare wall at the head of Lester’s mattress, wheezing and on fire. 

They separate themselves, both still twitching where they lie, until Lester finally raises himself from the bed. He makes more noise getting up than he did the whole time he was on Trevor’s dick, which makes Trevor want to bare his teeth and put a hole through a wall. Which is to say, makes him mildly irritated.  


“You're welcome.” Lester snaps, waddling into the master bathroom to clean himself up.

“ _You’re_ welcome!” Trevor shouts after him, boneless and relaxed on the bed. Lester frowns at him, speaking over the running water from the sink where he’s washing his hands.

“We—well, I—have a job to plan.” He looks at Trevor over his glasses in a way that’s probably supposed to be imposing but they’re still crooked from their encounter and it just ends up looking ridiculous. Trevor shrugs. The room is still dark, save for some light filtering through the dirty plastic blinds and the flickering bulb from the bathroom, and he as so fucking tired. 

“Don’t you want to get out of here?” He hears Lester ask. He’s already asleep.


End file.
